Wrangled by the Watchful Cowboy

Yet Cord saw his parents’ friends, who brought food, sat at the hospital, took over the work on the ranch, raised money to help with hospital bills, and wept with the family when his father finally died. It seemed something about the small community of Sage Valley drove the bonds of friendship deeper. What Cord had once viewed as people being-in-your-business, he now saw as compassion and caring.

He couldn’t help wondering what he’d been running from nine years ago. And his father’s question echoed unanswered in his head.

Cord limped up the steps, still favoring his sore knee. Clad in a custom-tailored suit, he ought to feel confident in his appearance. But even though he’d opted to forgo the sling on his arm, he couldn’t look too sophisticated sporting a black eye.

He knocked on the door, surprised when Jess answered with an anxious expression.

“Hi, Cord. I—” Her jaw dropped. “Wow, you look great.” Her hands smoothed her dress down. “I think I’m underdressed.”

His gaze dropped, taking in the pretty dress and the shapely calves it exposed. “No. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

She graced him with a shy smile, pink rising to her cheeks. Then she whispered, “I hate to ask, but can you come in for a minute?”

“Sure. I’ve got something for your grandfather.” He whipped the folded papers from his coat pocket. “You’re going to need to fill one of these out, too. It’s kind of awkward, but Sage Valley Ranch requires us to—”

“Sign a Sexual Harassment Awareness form,” she finished with him. “I know. I just did it. Signed it with my own blood.”

He laughed, relieved someone else had broken the news to her. “I used ink. Hope it’s still valid.”

As he entered, Bucky stood to greet him, his brows rising as he looked him over. “Evening, Cord. Is this how you New Yorkers dress?”

“My last job required me to wear a suit every day, so I have quite a few.” He held the form out, a sudden bout of nerves making his hand shake. “I’ve already filled out my form. And I want you to know this is our first official date.”

“It’s not a date,” Jessica mumbled, behind his back.

Bucky scanned the form. “It’s been a long time since a boy came to take one of my daughters on a date. I don’t even know what’s proper anymore. Do I ask where you’re going or what time you’ll have her home?”

Cord heard Jess grumbling behind him and waved his hand at her behind his back. “You can ask anything you like, Mr. Buchanan.”

Nanna appeared at Bucky’s side, taking his arm. “You don’t ask them anything, Bucky. Cord is a fine young man, and Jess is a grown woman. She’s been supporting herself for the last four years. I’m sure Cord will take her someplace nice and have her home at a decent time, like any gentleman would.”

Behind him, his hand was tugged, dragging him backwards toward the door. “I’ll have her home by midnight,” he promised, in a loud voice to cover Jessica’s mutterings.

“I can’t believe him,” she snapped, the moment the door closed behind them. “So embarrassing.”

Their fingers interlocked as they walked to the truck, and he noted how well their hands fit together. “I think it’s kind of nice,” he remarked. “I mean, other than the fact that I felt like a nervous teenager, it’s nice that they care so much. Bucky didn’t mean any harm.”

“You’re right.” Her jaw protruded in a stubborn way he was beginning to expect. “But it’s hard to be under their thumb when I’m used to being on my own. Nothing gets past Nanna.”

He opened her door and helped her into the truck. “Sorry you have to climb up in a dress. Living in New York, I don’t even own a car. When I came home, Dad let me use his truck. Her name’s Charlene… Charlene, the Chevy.”

“I always think of cars as females and trucks as males,” Jess said, patting the dashboard. “Rough and rugged.”

“This truck is definitely female. Very moody. Won’t even start when it’s cold.”

“Are you kidding me? Guys are plenty moody,” she said, as she latched her seatbelt.

“Charlene is kind of beat up on the outside,” he said in apology. “Our other truck is newer, but it’s a standard. My shoulder hurts when I shift gears.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not a car snob. My truck has almost 200,000 miles on it.”

“So does Charlene, but Dad kept her in great shape.”

And now he’s gone.

Without warning, Cord’s throat tightened. He quickly shut her door and turned his back to hide the moisture that sprang to his eyes. He’d held it together for the months during his dad’s illness, burying his emotions deep inside. Even after his father’s death, he’d successfully avoided any emotional outbreaks. Why was he falling apart now, of all times? After a few calming breaths, he moved around to the driver’s side and scrambled in, a cumbersome task without the use of his right arm.

He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and forced a smile on his face. “Ready to go eat?”